


not just feathers and sequins

by incandescence



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Akame if you squint, Gen, Set in the Past, Yamada's chibi jr days, pre-HSJ debut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 08:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20079109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescence/pseuds/incandescence
Summary: Written in 2015 for a friend and promptly forgot about it untiltakajimadelved through the contents of my old fic comm and dug it out lol;;





	not just feathers and sequins

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2015 for a friend and promptly forgot about it until [takajima](/users/takajima) delved through the contents of my old fic comm and dug it out lol;;

Yamada learns from day one not to ask for help, or to expect any, because there are far too many songs and even more boys. Instead, he learns to use his eyes and ears to keep up as much as he can, but if he makes a mistake, nobody’s looking at him anyway. He gets yelled at by their hawk-eyed choreographer - they all do, because they suck, but when they’re actually performing, the screaming girls aren’t looking for those midgets at the back.

It’s not long after that when Yamada gets asked if he can take over Yuto’s place tomorrow, because the star is sick, unfortunately, and they’re roughly the same height, so the costumes should still fit. Yamada says yes without really thinking about it; a chance to shine in the spotlight is why he’s here, after, all, and then he gets told there’s twenty songs to learn, and the performance is tomorrow.

“You can use the practice room on floor three,” they tell him, handing him papers and a CD player, “Be here by 4:30 tomorrow.”

It’s 11am and Yamada runs up three sets of stairs to the main floor of practice rooms because the clock’s ticking and he’s running out of time.

He looks stupid with the instructions in one hand, dancing while keeping one eye on his morose reflection in the mirror, but Yamada stops thinking; forgets about everything but the music, the papers, and his movements.

He doesn’t see Kamenashi-senpai until Kamenashi’s reflection is right behind Yamada’s, and Yamada yelps and jumps and takes two steps back while his heart beats triple time. He’s left standing there, wide eyed, as Kamenashi brushes past him and turns off the player.

“Your movements need to be sharper,” he says when he’s standing in front of Yamada again, “Sharper and more precise. Try it again.” 

Yamada doesn’t have any time, and so he listens. He kicks out with more vigour than before; flicks his wrist, shimmies like he’s seen KAT-TUN do, all while preening under his senpai’s approving gaze. When the music is turned back on, Kamenashi stays for half the song to dance with him, and for the first time since 11am, Yamada’s gaze is not trained on the mirror.

“Remember to smile!” Kamenashi calls as he backs out of the room, and Yamada ignores his terror; beams into the mirror.

  


—

  


Out of all the senpais in the industry, Kamenashi and Akanishi-senpais are probably the cheekiest, Yamada observes as Kawai and Senga get chewed out by their hawk-eye stage directors, sporting identical mohawks that have their seniors' names written all over them. Kamenashi catches his eye when he and a giggling Akanishi emerge from the bathroom with a bottle of hair gel, and winks before Akanishi plasters himself all over Kamenashi’s back, causing a commotion in the room to avoid a stern lecture.

Yamada still looks forward to those precious few minutes on Shokura recording day, when Kamenashi will stick his head in their rehearsal room to say hello.

  


—

  


Neither Kamenashi or Yamashita-senpai are present when Yamada and Yuto are called in to learn _Seishun Amigo_, but Yamada’s been watching Kamenashi for years, knows how Kamenashi would move even without having seen him do it, so he copies the steps that are also his revered senior’s with the laser focus he’s cultivated, and excitement buzzing underneath his skin. Singing is a bit more difficult; the beginning phrases are almost too deep for him, and definitely too deep for Yuto, but with some reshuffling of the lines, somehow they manage.

And whenever they get to perform with Shuuji and Akira, and afterwards even without, that twinge of relief never fails to make itself known, because he almost didn’t get to do this, was kept at the back again while Yabu, Hikaru and Yuto held the spotlight, and Yamada lifts his chin higher, spins that hat with more flourish, forces his voice to keep steadier than before.

  


—

  


“Expect more sequins,” Kamenashi tells him when Yamada asks for debut advice. “More sequins, more glitter, more feathers, less material.” He laughs at the face Yamada makes, reaches over to one of the many clothing racks and finds the pink feather boa Yamada wore all those years ago, a large purple top hat that Yamada’s seen Ueda wear before, and a sparkly orange coat.

Yamada hasn’t talked to the other juniors in a while, not even the ones in his new group; they all couldn’t keep the hurt out of their eyes when the five of them released that CD.

“Things will be hard, and you’ll want to quit, but you don’t get anywhere by giving up,” Kamenashi says, sobering up even as he drapes the boa over Yamada’s neck, and Yamada nods glumly underneath the hat, because he knows this, everyone says it. He doesn’t know what he was hoping for by tugging on Kamenashi’s sleeve. How to make amends with the juniors who got chosen, the ones who’d been his friends before, why he feels so uneasy in his own group, where the older ones eye them all with varying degrees of wariness or misery. Instead, Yamada says nothing, swings his legs on the chair while he stares at the floor. He’d thought a debut was something to be happy about, but instead he just feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Let me see your hip thrust,” Kame says suddenly, standing up and donning his own orange coat.

Yamada stops swinging his legs. “I know how to do a hip thrust.” He flushes, remembering Yabu and Hikaru tease him for his seriousness, the pursed lips and deep frown of the choreographer.

Kamenashi shakes his head, gestures with his hands for him to stand. “Not as a debuted idol, you don’t. It’s not just in the hips.” His expression brightens, and Yamada twists in his seat to see Yuto walk by. “Hey, Yuto, perfect timing!”

By the end of their little tutoring session, Kamenashi barking out orders and demonstrating and waving away their discomfort, both he and Yuto are red faced and decidedly not looking at each other, not that they do very much of that anyway.

“You’ll thank me later,” Kamenashi says with a solemnity Yamada rarely associates with him, and beside him, Yuto, more comfortable with his nii-chan, scoffs.

(They do, actually, thank him, every time it’s written into the choreography; over and over again in their minds as they roll and thrust and smoulder, and then to his face over a couple of beers, years and years later. Kamenashi smirks, raises his drink in a silent toast in place of I told you so.)

  


—

  


Yamada wasn’t like Yabu, who spent his formative years on various seniors’ knees, nor was he like Hikaru, who spent his on the others. Kamenashi hadn’t declared him his little brother like he had with Yuto, even if it were only on-screen, but when he’s got tears flowing down his face faster than he can wipe them off, and he can’t see where he’s going in the hallway, Kamenashi is still the only person he can think to go to.

“I hate him,” he sniffs into strong arms when he finally finds Kamenashi wandering the length of the fourth floor corridor; he’s always careful about how close he gets to people, but at the moment this is what he needs. “I didn’t ask for this, it’s not fair. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Sometimes Yamada drifts off to sleep wishing he’d stuck to soccer. When he wakes up in the morning that desire has usually passed, but it’s been almost a week and the urge to drop everything and return to the field is stronger than ever. In soccer your team was everything; as long as you didn’t kick the ball into your own goal or something, your teammates would have no reason to fix their glares on you.

Kamenashi waits until his tears have dried before he sits him down on one of the steps, wraps one of his arms around his shoulders.

“You’re going to have more responsibilities now,” is the first thing he says, “People will expect more from you, during lessons, on stage.” Don’t let people see your weaknesses, is the hidden message.

“I thought we were friends,” he mumbles, talking about Yuto, at the very least. Surely friends knew you would never hurt them on purpose? But, “I feel like I’ve stolen something from him,” he says, louder this time, and that’s maybe the worst part of all of this, that someone he’s looked up to since he entered the agency is nudged to the side for him, less talented, less outstanding.

Kamenashi’s silent for a long time; so long that Yamada thinks at first he’s run out of things to say, contemplates getting up to leave. “You could go to them and protest, but I can tell you that’s not going to work,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s a responsibility that you didn’t ask for, but it’s a responsibility you’re going to have to fulfil, unless you want to quit. What Yuto-kun and the others think is no longer your concern - the only thing you can do now is to do the best you can, and let them realise it in their own time.”

His expression softens at Yamada’s growl. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear.”

Later, Yamada will find Kamenashi and thank him, again, because if he only sought out things he wanted to hear, he’d go to his younger sister. But now, he sighs and nods and stands, drags his feet down the every single step on the way to the exit.

It’s only later that Yamada’s filled with remorse; he’d forgotten all about seeing Akanishi-senpai skulk angrily down the halls.

  


—

  


“I’ll take you drinking when you turn 20,” Kamenashi has been writing in Wink Up messages for years now, and gone are the days Yamada didn't believe him, so the day before his birthday, Yamada picks up his phone. 

“Do you know what day it is tomorrow, senpai?” he asks, because he’s almost 20 now, he can be coy without turning red, can ask for things without being afraid of the answer. 

Kamenashi names a bar in Shibuya, a few blocks away from Yamada’s favourite shopping area, and Yamada wrangles out a teasing promise to be taught how to drink.

“I’m counting on it, senpai,” he assures, and ends the call after a shout of laughter.

  


—

  



End file.
